Chapter 2

CHIARA

‘ Chi sei ?’

I demanded his identity even as I glared at him.

I hoped my frigid mask served him with as much frost as possible.

‘Came back for your keys?’

He lifted the set from the table and dangled them in his hands, playing with them as he studied me.

His bold statement and his sidestep of my demand got my hackles up even more.

His command of English mirrored my own, with a lilt that told of British schooling, like mine.

Intriguing. Still, che palle. Who the fuck did he think he was waltzing into my workspace unbidden?

‘Who the hell are you?’

His lips curled. ‘I’m the man who found it fucking easy to enter your office and even simpler to work your locks at home earlier today. I watered your lily in the living room, by the way. She was wilting.’

I choked, spluttered, and surged into the room, heels clicking, hips swinging, taking the fight to him.

This time, all bets were off.

I laid both hands on my desk and leaned in.

‘Signore, if you were going to kill me, you’d have done so already. So I’ll ask again, who the fuck are you? And what do you want? If it’s my art, they’re all tagged, and I don’t know where to find those chips. So I’m no use to you. The second you leave here with any of my canvases, the tags will be triggered, and the capo will be notified and come after your ass.’

He arched a brow at my wrath, unmoved.

His gaze slid to my blouse for a moment, which was gaping when I glanced down.

Revealing my lacy rose gold bra and the swell of my tits.

I was too pissed off to care. ‘Well?’ I demanded.

His mouth twisted further, and he tapped his cheroot into my decorative ashtray before replying. ‘Woman, I think Galleria Gisela is overpriced, and your stock is not my liking. Too modern for me, Chiara Tirone.’

My heart lurched. He knew my full name.

He’d been in my home and broken into my office.

What the hell did he want?

What if he’d been sent to -

‘I don’t need you dead. At least now, for now.’ he drawled, cutting through my thoughts, reading my mind with infuriating precision.

‘You righteous bastard.’

‘You won’t think so after you hear this. A few weeks ago, you called a certain Signore Avenaldi and spoke of your security concerns, no?’

I took a shaky breath, recalling that I had indeed contacted an old friend of my father’s.

‘In that call,’ the brutish man went on, ‘you mentioned you’d pay well for a protection team to watch your back, stating you had some worries about your safety. Signore Avenaldi said he’d look into it and send an expert to you.’

He paused to take another inhale of his cheroot before blowing it slow and long, sending circles of smoke into the air.

They curled toward the ceiling, and I followed their trajectory, still flummoxed that this experience was unfolding.

‘I am that man,’ he drawled, slicing those pale babies to me.

I jolted, with traitorous desire for dammit, his aura was freakin attractive.

I felt it in the ripple that went through my clit and hardened my nipples into taut buds of need.

Fuck him in particular.

I let out the breath I’d been holding, crossing my hands over my chest to hide my arousal, and glared at him. ‘Even so, haven’t you heard of making an appointment? You’ve admitted you broke into my home and now my office. How unwise would I be to hire you after breaking my trust?’

‘How foolish would you be not to, Chiara? I only intended to illustrate how weak your security is, and given your severe concerns, you need someone who is steps ahead of your imagined or real enemies.’

I stared at him, hating that he made more sense every minute. ‘Fuck you.’

‘One day, perhaps, if you beg me,’ he growled.

He ignored my outraged gasp and powered on. ‘But not today. Let’s talk terms.’

I glared at him, chest heaving, hands on hips, ready to let loose with my infamous temper.

‘Do you care that I own this place and don’t want you in it right now?’

‘I do care. I just don’t give a fuck. Also, tantrums don’t work on me, belleza ,’ he drawled, eyes gleaming with amusement.

I tamped down the urge to rush him and squeeze his neck until all the air in his lungs leaked out of him.

But my logical brain told me I’d be flat on the floor if I dared raise a hand at him.

Which made him formidable. With a sigh, I admitted a grudging level of respect for him, which made me even more fractious.

I found an excuse to rail on him. ‘You can’t smoke in here. The gallery has a strict no tobacco policy.’

‘Hush now, woman, it’s herbal.’

He extended the slim cigar to me, and I shook my head. ‘I quit.’

A flicker of indecipherable emotion flashed in his eyes, and I wondered why.

The pause made me aware of the scent in the air—sage, thyme, and hints of rose petals and jasmine. I had to admit, it was lush.

‘It’ll still kill you, just slower,’ I groused to cover up my sharp need for a smoke.

I’d given up the habit a few years ago, but it still lured me every so often.

‘Not when I have one a day, Chiara,’ he shot back.

‘You know my name,’ I tossed out. ‘What do I call you?’

‘Rio,’ came the timbred drawl, the appellation sending a shiver down my spine.

I threw up my hands in huffed annoyance. ‘As in Rio de Janeiro, or the code-name for the character in Money Heist? Either way, it can’t be genuine.’

His lips twisted as I placed my fists on my hips, defiant, unconvinced. ‘Believe what you want, signora . Rio means river, and like the real freaking thing, when I rise, I wipe everything out. These are the traits you need to protect your fuckin’ ass from the terror about to rain down on you.’

VALERIO

Chiara Tirone was a lioness, graceful and wild, with a magnetic power that enticed the senses.

My damn attention was locked on her, unable to tear away, so I studied her.

Bristling before me, hands on hips, enraged at my intrusion, my insinuation, and my damn entitled asshole imputation.

I didn’t give a fuck.

Still, she was enticing, enough to stem the flow of my murderous thoughts toward her and her family.

Her long, tawny hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, catching the light like a golden mane.

Every aspect of her held pure predatory beauty; her limbs were elongated and athletic, and her body was the perfect balance of strength and elegance.

She had the kind of allure that wasn’t delicate—it was striking, commanding, like the wild landscape of a sunlit savannah.

Her eyes, deep and amber like the heart of a flame, seemed to see through everything and everyone. Her gaze shifted from soft warmth to sharp, cutting focus in an instant, depending on the situation.

She carried herself with effortless confidence, her head held high and her shoulders back, and every movement imbued with the natural poise of someone who existed in her power.

Her athletic frame hinted at a life of discipline and control. Her muscles were toned and lean, and her body was a curvy bombshell.

Her tits. Cazzo! Glorious, swaying in my line of sight.

Her hips, heaven, those legs, would walk you right to hell.

But it was more than her physicality that rendered her leonine—how she moved through the world with a quiet self-assurance.

Her presence was magnetic, impossible to ignore.

She had an apparent temper and made grand gestures, bending the space around her to her will.

She even growled when she spoke, with a husky purr that got parts of me twitching.

The kind of woman who silenced a room with just her essence, her beauty sharp and untamed.

She embodied wildness wrapped in elegance—a lioness in human form, fierce and beautiful at once.

Thank Dio , my groin was hidden from view by her desk, for under it, I was hard as a rock and fighting to keep my chest from heaving.

Caught in a maelstrom of savage desire and a deep loathing for Miss Tirone and what she embodied.

She had no clue who I was.

But I’d never forgotten who she was.

Fifteen years and a spell at a luxury personalized care facility paid by Don Tirone had cleaned her up almost too well.

I don’t know what I’d expected after all this time.

This sophisticated beauty in a couture dress, high six-inch heels, and a lithe body was not it.

I smirked, for she was in my purview and would soon pay, in a painful, grotesque method and time of my liking, for her crimes against my parents and family.

‘A drink, perhaps, to calm you down?’

I didn’t wait for her to respond.

I rose and strode to what I recognized as a limited edition Bellini Sideboard, a masterpiece of timeless elegance and sophisticated design.

It figured. Chiara was a high-flying collector who bought and sold art and premium collectibles worldwide.

I reached into the stunning piece finished in an antique brass cladding.

The furniture reflected her tastes: luxurious, warm patinas, refined opulence, and a minimalist aesthetic.

Which mirrored mine.

I refused to be impressed.

Instead, I withdrew a snifter of whiskey and lifted it for her approval.

‘It’s the one I keep for my most esteemed art gallery clients,’ she murmured, nodding.

‘ Perfetto .’

I found glasses and poured out two tots into the waiting crystal tumblers.

While I did, I closed my eyes for a beat, face canted from her as memories of the past rushed into the present.

My stomach twisted, bile rose in my mouth, and I had to press my lips and swallow to stop from gagging as the nightmare that had haunted me for years resurfaced.

Fotto!